It's time to go home

 I've regressed to my country girl state, so it's time to go home. Driving out of the car park at the depot this afternoon, I found myself raising a couple of fingers off the steering wheel, acknowledging the driver in front of me, as you do in the country. 

"Been here long enough," I told my colleague who was sitting next to me. 

"Yeah."

"Time to go home. I'm giving the car salute. Only do that in the country."

"Yeah."

My colleague is a townie. I'm not sure she gets the importance of raising a finger to a driver coming in the opposite direction. Families have fallen out over not raising a finger off the steering wheel for decades. It's just what you do.

We left the depot at 3.30 pm. We had to get petrol. Again, out of courtesy, and mostly because we're not arseholes. The car had a 20 kilometre range left in the tank. There was a fuel card in the car, so it didn't cost me a cent. Getting back onto the Stuart Highway took a few minutes. 

"We've hit peak hour. Bummer."

"Yeah,"

Peak hour in Darwin means there's two cars in front of you at the lights and it takes a few minutes to cross the road. It gets annoying. Then you remember that it sometimes takes three cycles of the lights to turn into Burnley Street. 

It's time to go home.

My flight is at quarter to one. I'll get back to Melbourne at 5.30. The drive home will hit peak Melbourne traffic. Joy. 

My bags are packed. 

I took a walk at dusk to watch the sunset over Darwin Bay. It never fails to disappoint. 

I found some takeaway for dinner. 

I'm hoping to get some sleep on the plane. 

I'll order an Uber and check out soon. 

And this time next week, I'll be doing exactly the same thing - packing bags, doing final sweeps and heading to the airport. Although next week, I'll be off to London...

Today's song: